


Dining with the Captain, or the Burdens of Command

by fransoun



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Tactile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fransoun/pseuds/fransoun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus invites Minimus Ambus over for dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enfilade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/gifts).



Minimus Ambus pressed the door chime for Rodimus’ habsuite and dropped his arm back to his side, feeling awkward and exposed in the middle of the long hallway.

At the moment, it was empty, but Minimus didn’t know how long it would stay that way. Not that he had anything to hide, not anymore - his secret was well and truly out now, to the crew (and the rest of Cybertron for that matter, too) and the time when he had lived in fear of being discovered for who - and _what_ \- he truly was had passed four million years ago. But still. He shifted uncomfortably.

Rodimus had ordered - no. Rodimus had _requested_ Minimus’ presence that evening - asked with sparkling optics and that suggestive smile of his, the one that told Minimus _exactly_ what sort of activities Rodimus had planned and set Minimus’ spark to pulsing with its promises - for him. The _irreducible_ him.

...he supposed it was a ‘date’. He still wasn’t sure exactly how the word 'date' had wound up applying in any way to him or his life, but somehow it had managed. Rodimus had _made_ it manage.

Not that Minimus had minded! In fact, he - alone in the corridor, Minimus cleared his intake self-consciously - he rather liked it. Quite a lot, actually. Rodimus was a _very_ attractive mech by anyone's standards. Minimus had first noticed _that_ back on Earth - right before the erstwhile Hot Rod had stolen his ship.

And _that_ had made him a criminal, and _that_ meant that, under the laws of the Tyrest Accord which every Ultra Magnus was sworn to obey, and by the personal code to which Ultra Magnus held himself, he was bound to pursue Hot Rod and arrest him for his crime. And a relationship between a criminal and the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord was _completely_ out of the question.

(Somehow, though, the thought of Hot Rod in restraints had made it _harder_ for Ultra Magnus to put the thought of him from his processor, and he couldn't understand why.)

And then the war was over. Cybertron itself had ended it and called them all home, and while that certainly wasn't absolution, not for any of them, it _did_ mean that there were suddenly a lot more criminals in one place. And there were circumstances, extenuating ones. Ultra Magnus had struggled to put it into words, but underneath the armor and the unyielding adherence to the Autobot Code, Minimus Ambus had taken up the mantle of Duly Appointed Enforcer because he believed that with it he could do _good_. And arresting Rodimus didn't _seem_ good. It didn't seem like it was _right_.

But he couldn't fit that vague sensation of what was _good_ and _right_ into any subsection of the Accord, and it had eaten at him, one offense piling on top of another until finally Ultra Magnus had turned Rodimus and the rest of the crew over to Chief Justice Tyrest.

The armor, it had turned out, was not the load hardest to bear. The guilt weighed far heavier.

The door to the captain's habsuite slid open, distracting Minimus from his brooding. Rodimus stood in the doorway, smiling down at him.

The cabin beyond the captain was dark, lit only by a handful of floating spheres of light scattered throughout the room. Off to the side, the table in front of the couch on which they'd spent - Minimus resisted the urge to clear his intakes again - many enjoyable evenings had been set with two cubes of gently shimmering energon. Minimus was certainly no expert - he couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything stronger than a weak energon spritzer - but the fuel's colors seemed much richer, more _vibrant_ , than the watery pink of rations grade. The air smelled faintly of polish and wax, and Minimus breathed it in deeply. The smell was a good smell, a _clean_ smell, and it eased some of that tension he found so hard to put down.

The polish had been put to good use on the 'bot standing in front of him. Rodimus practically gleamed. Minimus felt the air hitch in his intakes.

But he hardly had time to look. No sooner had the door slid shut behind him than Rodimus had dropped to his knees and pinned Minimus up against the door with a fervent kiss.

Rodimus, as it had turned out, was an _excellent_ kisser. Minimus had struggled to come to that conclusion - not because Rodimus' kisses were in any way unsatisfactory (a shiver ran up his backstruts as Rodimus pressed in further - quite the opposite, in fact) but because Minimus had nothing to compare them to. He'd never permitted himself to get anywhere _near_ this close to another mech before - and he and Rodimus had gotten very, _very_ close.

When Minimus Ambus had first taken up the armor, Tyrest had laid out certain rules of behavior that were expected of the new Ultra Magnus. Love had not been directly addressed, but the Chief Justice had strongly hinted that his Duly Appointed Enforcer was not to involve himself in romance. Ultra Magnus was free to have acquaintances, of course. Contacts, in fact, were even encouraged - anything to increase the reach of the long arm of the Law. But friends were discouraged, and anything more...Tyrest had trailed off nd looked away, pursing his lips in distaste, apparently unwilling to sully himself with discussion of such a petty topic. But his meaning was clear - Ultra Magnus' duty was to the Law above all else, his loyalty to Tyrest and his Accord. Any distractions - any _weaknesses_ in the armor or its bearer - were _not_ to be tolerated.

If it had been lonely at times, Minimus had told himself it was more than made up for by the sense of purpose and meaning Tyrest and his Accord gave him, a purpose and meaning his life before had lacked. His duty was to bring order to a species in the midst of war and chaos, to enforce the Law where there otherwise was none. He _mattered_ , and for that, any sacrifice was worth the cost.

That's what he'd told himself.

And then had come _this_ ship, and _this_ crew. This - this _quest_.

And this captain.

The captain in question was still kissing him, and Minimus had no desire to ask him to stop. He'd probably have struggled to find the words, even if he'd wanted to - Rodimus drove him out of his processor in more ways then one.

Minimus' lips parted, slightly dazed by the intensity of his captain's kiss, and Rodimus' engine let out a soft purr of contentment as he pressed himself closer. The sound vibrated through Minimus' frame, and Minimus felt himself go weak in the knees. But flame-colored hands curled gently around the curve of his tiny shoulders, supporting him, holding him in place. Those yellow fingers, usually so small compared to his, so _clever_ , working their way into gaps in Magnus' armor to tease at the sensitive wires beneath - they were now _bigger_ , thick and strong. If he wanted, Rodimus could completely encircle Minimus' waist with his hands.

Is this what it felt like for Rodimus when Magnus wore the armor? Strong hands possessing him, _mastering_ him - strong hands that could put him wherever they liked, _however_ they'd like, and keep him there for as long as they wanted? Strong hands that could do whatever they liked to him, while he, helpless to resist, could only take...?

_Oh_. Minimus could definitely get used to this.

With one last, lingering kiss, Rodimus leaned back. Minimus could feel the warm draft from his captain's fans, and a pleased tingle ran through his circuits. He wasn't the only one enjoying this encounter.

"Well," Rodimus whispered. "What do you think?"

"I - " Minimus managed. "I like it." Oh, did he _ever_.

"Mmm," Rodimus leaned back in again, smiling. "Me, too. I think it's _great_. In fact, I think I'd like some more."

Minimus relaxed into Rodimus' arms and let himself be kissed. He had gotten much better at reciprocating - the captain thought highly enough of his newfound skills to give Magnus a second Rodimus star for "kissing ability". (Magnus decided not to share that one with anyone.) But tonight Rodimus seemed to want to take the lead, and Minimus was more than happy to let him. He parted his lips even further, allowing Rodimus' tongue to push forward and brush against his. Minimus felt his optics spark at the contact and choked back a moan.

Minimus could have happily stayed that way forever, savoring the sensation of Rodimus' lips against his, but Rodimus, as he always did, soon got restless. His mouth wandered down to the cables of Minimus' neck, and Minimus leapt at the first gentle nip. Rodimus' hands stroked soothingly down his sides.

"What's - " Minimus attempted to regain some dignity, but Rodimus lapping at his throat was _incredibly_ distracting, and Minimus' words came out in a strangled gasp. "What's for dinner?"

Rodimus pulled back just enough for Minimus to see his grin. His hand slid down to Minimus' hips as he leaned in to murmur in Minimus' ear.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? _You_ are."

Minimus' legs gave out beneath him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Rodimus caught Minimus as his legs gave way. Warm hands tightened their grip around his waist, and the captain lifted Minimus up, pressing him gently back against the door to resume their kiss. Minimus' legs now dangled helplessly in midair, but Rodimus was doing such interesting things with his mouth that Minimus couldn't bring himself to care.  
  
Minimus Ambus had never been kissed by Rodimus before. Ultra Magnus had been, of course, many, _many_ times. Even with his secret out, Minimus had continued to wear the armor. He told himself it was for the protection of the ship and its crew - if the... _incident_ with Overlord had proven anything, it was that Cybertron ending the war didn't mean her children were in any less danger.  
  
And that was true, in a way. But it wasn't the whole truth - which, by Ultra Magnus' standards, was as good as a lie.  
  
After Luna 1, the crew had thrown a party. Verity would have called it a "rager". Rodimus (with a wry grimace, so unlike his usual grin) had called it an "oh my god [most of] us aren't dead" party. Minimus could have counted the number of 'bots who kept their F.I.M. chips activated on one hand.  
  
He had been lurking in the corner by the engex bowl, clutching a rations-grade cube tightly in one hand, when Rung had approached him. The psychiatrist had stood silently by his side for a moment, looking out at the party, before quietly, in that unassuming way of his, offering Minimus his services. Minimus had thanked him gruffly, in a manner far more suited to the towering form of Ultra Magnus, and made noises to the effect that he appreciated the concern, really, but it wasn't necessary, he was fine. Rung had nodded and smiled and said understanding words, and at some point, he must have left - when Minimus looked up again, he was gone.  
  
Minimus trusted that Rung had not mentioned his... _concerns_ to Rodimus. That would have been a violation of doctor/patient confidentiality, even if Magnus wasn't _technically_ a patient. But Rodimus had an irritating way of intuiting things he shouldn't.  
  
So tonight, at Rodimus' request, Minimus had left the armor in his quarters. He hadn't been entirely sure what to do with it, really, and had spent several minutes staring uncertainly at the rather large heap of oversized components on the floor of his habsuite. He'd wound up arranging the armor carefully in a seated position on his berth, settling its hands on its knees and standing on the tips of his pedes to place the helmet on top. It now sat side-by-side with his intermediate shell in the darkness of his habsuite, lightless eyes watching the door as it waited for him to return.  
  
Although, if Rodimus' mood was any indication, it might not see him again until morning. The captain was taking his sweet time with Minimus' mouth, and no part of Minimus wanted him to stop.  
  
In previous encounters, when Minimus had worn the Magnus armor and a single kiss from Rodimus could only cover part of his mouth, Rodimus had made making out into sort of a game, nipping his way playfully along the soft metal of Magnus' lipplates and placing teasing little pecks in the corners of his mouth - until Ultra Magnus couldn't take it any more and crushed their lips together, one had hard on the back of Rodimus' helm, holding him _right_ where Ultra Magnus wanted him while Rodimus moaned into his mouth, scrabbling desperately for the rounded audials on either side of Magnus' helm to drag himself closer, closer. Magnus suspected Rodimus _liked_ breaking the iron grip Magnus kept on himself, and he'd proven to be more effective at it than anyone Magnus had ever known. What was even stranger to Magnus was that _he_ found himself liking it, too.  
  
And when they did kiss - a full-on, proper kiss - Magnus had to be careful that his tongue in Rodimus' mouth didn't gag his captain. (Although, in their last encounter when, swept up in the heat of the moment, Magnus had forgotten to be mindful -  so easy to do with Rodimus running hot in his arms - he'd pushed his tongue in deep and Rodimus had _arched_ against him, clutching at the shoulders of the armor to press himself against Magnus' chest, optics half shuttered and flickering weakly as he whimpered, the helpless noises sending an electric rush of warmth straight to Magnus' spark. When he'd finally broken the kiss, Rodimus had lain limp in his arms and grinned dazedly up at him, and some distant part of Magnus' mind had thought that he might not need to be so careful after all.)  
  
But this was new for both of them, and so Rodimus was taking his time. The captain had his mouth gently pressed to Minimus', his lips molding to the shape of his lover's. He pushed in a little further, parting Minimus' lips ever so much, and Minimus shivered at the warmth of his captain's breath in his mouth. Rodimus slid his tongue forward to brush lightly over Minimus', and suddenly Minimus could _taste_ his captain, too. He relaxed into the kiss, dimming his optics. Rodimus tasted so sweet.  
  
Another sweep of Rodimus' tongue, and the captain's mouth slipped down to capture Minimus' lower lip between his. Rodimus began to nip at it, just as he did when it was Magnus' mouth he was kissing, and the little pulsations of pressure set the sensors beneath the thin metal to tinging. Minimus shivered again as the sensations raced through his neural net and closed his eyes, tilting his chin up towards Rodimus, requesting _more_ , please. Instead of giving it, however, Rodimus took Minimus' lip gently between between his denta and started to slooooooowly tease it out. The smooth slide of the metal between his captain's teeth drew a soft whine from Minimus.  
  
And then Rodimus pulled that lip back in between his and _suckled_. Minimus gasped, and he felt Rodimus' mouth curve upwards. His captain had found himself new game to play.  
  
Rodimus murmured the words against his lips. "Mmm. You taste just as good this way."  
  
"You - you as well, captain," Minimus stammered.  
  
He felt a puff of warm air from Rodimus' vents as he half-laughed, half-sighed. "You _can_ call me Rodimus, you know. We _are_ off-duty. Unless you're in the habit of doing this with all your commanders?"  
  
"R-Rodimus!" It came out less an indignant protestation and more a breathless squeak.  
  
Rodimus' engine purred at the sound of his name. " _Good_."  
  
The captain pushed himself closer, and his fingers began to trace slow, teasing circles over the the gap in the plating between Minimus' hip and thigh. Minimus tried to push into the frustratingly light touches, but Rodimus grinned and kept his other hand in place, wrapped snugly around Minimus' waist. Minimus swallowed an utterly undignified urge to whine. He was a loadbearer, and under normal circumstances - say, when his feet _weren't_ dangling in midair - he could have _easily_ pushed Rodimus back and made him -  
  
...well, possibly not. Proximity to Rodimus of _any_ sort seemed to weaken the structural integrity of his knee joints. Minimus kept meaning to talk to Ratchet about that malfunction.  
  
One clever, flame-yellow digit dipped down into the gap between the plating, and the pressure pulled Minimus back to the oh-so-pleasurable present. It hooked itself around a sensitive wire and gave it a tug.  
  
Minimus couldn't help it. He twitched in Rodimus' arms.  
  
Rodimus' smile widened, and another tug sent a second quick snap of pleasure skittering up Minimus' spinal strut. Minimus twitched again and let out a thin whine of pure _need_.  
  
Rodimus had done this to him before, of course. When Magnus wore the armor, Rodimus could play him like a _instrument_. (What was that Earth one with strings? A Guiltar, maybe?)  
  
A few more light plucks, though, and his captain carefully extricated his fingers and released Minimus' mouth. As he drew back, a thin, crackling arc of electricity leapt between their lips. Rodimus smirked.  
  
"I'm getting you all charged up, am I?"  
  
Instead of resuming, though, Rodimus leaned in and pressed his helm to Minimus', sighing contentedly. A wash of warm air blew over Minimus' plating as the tiny loadbearer struggled to find the words to... _encourage_ his captain to continue.  
  
"You will not break me, capt - _Rodimus_."  
  
Rodimus' optics sparkled.  
  
"Is that so? Then I think it's time for the main course."  
  



End file.
